


New York Renaissance

by victoria_p (musesfool)



Category: Sports Night
Genre: Catchallathon, M/M, reunionating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-18
Updated: 2008-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-15 13:22:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9236936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p
Summary: "I wasn't ready then. But I am now."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://jule1122.livejournal.com/profile)[**jule1122**](http://jule1122.livejournal.com/) , who requested a Dan/Casey reunion, in [](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/profile)[**inlovewithnight**](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/) 's [**Catchallathon**](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/1364722.html). Thanks to [](http://laurificus.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://laurificus.livejournal.com/)**laurificus** for looking it over and making it a better story. All errors are mine.

The phone rings, and Dan knows she'll just keep calling until he answers, so he decides to get it over with. "Yeah."

"I know you got the invitation."

He's actually still holding it in his hand, which makes him wonder if there's a tiny camera embedded in the fancy off-white paper. He wouldn't put it past her. And Jeremy would know how to do it, too. "And hello to you, too, Natalie."

"Dan--"

"Yes, I got the invitation. I'm looking at it right now."

"I know you did! I just said I know you got it." She pauses just long enough for Dan to think he can get a word in, then says, "You have to come."

"I didn't say I wasn't going to."

"You didn't have to say it."

"True. That's what the little RSVP card is for, right?"

"Dan." When he closes his eyes, he can picture the sad look on her face. He never could resist that look. Also, it was a lot less scary than her angry face. "You should bring a date."

"I should?"

"Actually, you should be Dana's date."

"I think Dana's perfectly capable of getting her own date."

"Of course she is, but you're not."

"Thanks, Natalie."

"I didn't mean it like that. You know what I mean."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. He knows exactly what she means. "Yes, Natalie."

"Okay, then. You and Dana are a yes. She's the maid of honor, you know, and Jeremy would like you to stand up for him, so you'd both be in the wedding party, and it just makes more sense for you to come together."

"Of course it does." He can't quite hide the bitterness in his voice and can't quite feel as bad as he should about it.

"Unless--Dan, are you seeing someone? If you have someone you want to bring--"

"No, Natalie. Nobody special."

"Dan--"

"It's okay, Natalie. Don't worry about it." Now he's picturing her sympathy face, but it's too close to pity, and he hadn't wanted that back when the whole mess had happened. He wants it even less now, two years after the fact. "So what's with the short notice? Did Jeremy knock you up? Do I need to bring my shotgun?"

"You don't own a shotgun."

"You don't know that."

"I know you."

"I could buy one."

"And carry it on a flight from L.A.?"

"I could buy one once I get to New York."

She laughs, and that's much better than having to hear the sadness in her voice. "I have other calls to make. Don't forget to bring your tux."

"Yes, ma'am."

He hangs up and laughs at himself.

The phone rings again three minutes later.

"I'll have you know I'm perfectly capable of getting a date to Natalie and Jeremy's wedding," Dana says before he even has a chance to say anything.

"I never thought you weren't."

"But if you wanted to be my date, it might make things easier all around."

"There's no one I'd rather dance that first dance with, Dana." It's true, too, as far as it goes. Casey is a terrible dancer; Dana actually has rhythm.

He can hear the smile in her voice when she says, "Okay, then." She hesitates, then, "Danny?"

"I'm all right, Dana. Really."

"Okay." She sounds skeptical, but for once, she doesn't push. She's probably saving that up for when she sees him in person. "Don't forget your tux."

"I won't."

"See you soon, Dan."

She hangs up before he can reply.

In the next few hours, he fields calls from Isaac and Jeremy and Kim, all of them saying the same things, and he knows he can't get out of going back. Not this time. With a sigh, he books his hotel and his ticket.

Then he looks down at the dog lying on his feet and sighs again. Finding someone to look out for her isn't going to be quite that easy.

*

"Peggy likes to run," he tells Isabel, his next door neighbor and brand new dog-sitter, for the fifth time.

"I heard you the first four times, Dan. She likes to run, she gets baby carrots instead of cookies for snacks, and she's not to sleep in the bed." There's exasperation in Isabel's voice, but also amusement, so Dan thinks they're doing all right. He hasn't made a lot of friends since he's been in L.A.--it's all "let's do lunch" and "I'll call you sometime" and he's all right with that most of the time--but Isabel and her husband invited him over for dinner when he first moved into the apartment complex, and they haven't been able to get rid of him since.

"She totally sleeps in the bed, Isabel. You can't stop her, you can only hope to contain the licking."

Isabel laughs. "I know, Dan."

"Okay." He crouches down and grabs the dog by her scruff and rubs his nose against her. "You be a good girl for Isabel, okay, baby?" Peggy barks twice in response, which Dan is sure means yes, or possibly, I'm going to lick your face even though my breath smells like ass. Which she proceeds to do, with enough enthusiasm to nearly knock Dan back off his heels.

"Have a good trip, Dan." Isabel pats him on the arm when he straightens up.

"I will."

"You're going to miss your flight if you don't leave now."

"Oh, yeah."

He takes a deep breath. He's as ready as he'll ever be.

*

Dan leans his head against the cool plastic off the window and stares down at the lights of the city. He chose this seat specifically so he could have this view as his plane approached LaGuardia, the spires of the Empire State Building and the Chrysler building rising tall and bright in the darkness. He tries to ignore the gap in the sky where the towers should be, still not used to their absence. He's glad he hasn't been around enough to get used to it.

Until now, all the reasons to come back to New York had been less compelling than the reason to stay away. But he couldn't resist the plea in Natalie's voice, the hope in Dana's. The command in Isaac's, slower after a second stroke, but still strong. Still the closest thing to a father he's got.

The thing is, Dan had never planned to live anywhere else but New York. He'd done Dallas with Casey, and he'd threatened L.A. on occasion, but he'd never expected to actually leave and go live there. He's still not used to it, still walks out of his apartment expecting to see yellow cabs and pedestrians and dirty, gum-stained sidewalks instead of palm trees, convertibles, and miles of blondes.

LaGuardia is the same as ever, small and labyrinthine, and the strap from his garment bag is digging painfully into his shoulder by the time he gets to the taxi stand.

"Hey," the cabbie says when Dan climbs into the backseat. "You're Dan Rydell. Used to watch your show all the time."

"Thanks," he says, surprised. Nobody in L.A. recognizes him, or admits to it, anyway. He's not a sports anchor anymore; he's just another screenwriter with one hit under his belt and a bunch of unproduced screenplays waiting in the wings. Nobody famous.

"Ain't been the same without you."

"I hear that."

It's chilly, even for March, but he rolls down the window, sucks in the smell of exhaust and cheap air freshener, ozone and New York, the scent of home.

"Hey," he says, "can we stop off at Shea first?"

The cabbie shrugs. "Whatever you want, man," he says in his nearly incomprehensible accent.

Dan makes him stop at Shea, stares at the ugly old stadium and the bare bones of the new one rising from the asphalt across the way, goes over to the tennis center after that, looks at the empty parking lots and stadium seats, remembers the sound of thousands cheering, the buzz of adrenaline humming under his skin. He misses it, more than he'd ever admit, even to himself, and this reminds him of it, of the future he had and threw away on a mistake, on a feeling he knew was unrequited.

"Let's go," he says, getting back into the cab.

He feels a tight ache in his chest when they go over the bridge, the skyline even more overwhelming up close, the Empire State Building lit up for St. Patrick's Day and the traffic bumper to bumper as they head towards his hotel.

There are messages from Dana, from Jeremy and from Natalie when he finally turns his phone on, and after he checks into his hotel room and washes his face, he heads out to Anthony's, the route familiar and yet different--the old deli where they'd ordered sandwiches is a Pret a Manger now, and there's a Starbucks where Original Famous Ray's used to be, but he can see the Chrysler building gleaming in the darkness, and it feels like home.

The bar is exactly the same, and he finds Jeremy, Natalie, and Dana huddled together at a table, and they all jump up and hug him excitedly.

He orders a scotch and sits down beside Dana and doesn't answer any of their questions, but it's okay. Natalie is telling some story about going shopping for her wedding gown, and Jeremy wants to talk about the Mets, and it's almost like no time has passed at all. Only the empty space at the head of the table reminds him that it's not.

He gets back to his hotel a little after three, but he's not sleepy. It's only midnight for him. He used to love working nights, being awake when the rest of the world was asleep, looking out over the city, lit up like it was his for the taking.

He leaves the curtains open, and it's nearly dawn by the time he falls asleep. He doesn't dream.

*

Dan walks into the rehearsal the next afternoon and forces himself not to back out when the first person he sees is Casey. It's not like he hasn't seen Casey over the last two years--the guy's on television every night, and Dan's never been good at leaving things alone--he picked his scabs as a kid, prodded loose teeth, and, well. He's watched the show every night, resisting the temptation to call Casey afterwards and tell him when his jokes bombed or when the writing was really tight. He figures he lost that right when he left, and refused to answer Casey's calls. And anyway, he figures Casey already knows.

"Hey," Casey says, holding out a hand.

Dan takes it, pretends he doesn't feel the familiar shock of heat at Casey's touch. "Hey."

Dana bustles over then, always more aware of the undercurrents than they ever gave her credit for, and takes them each by the arm. "You guys will stand up here with Jeremy," she says, leading them to the front of the room. "Louise and I will walk up the aisle alone, and then Natalie and her parents will follow."

"I think we know how it works," Casey says.

Natalie's parents arrive then, and Natalie runs the rehearsal like a military operation.

"Man, can you imagine if she ran the rundown like that?" Casey says softly while the rabbi and the priest make bad jokes about marriage.

"Never happen," Dan answers, shaking his head. "Our ragtag rebel forces would totally sabotage her tyrannical evil empire."

"'We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;  
For he today that sheds his blood with me  
Shall be my brother,'" Casey murmurs, his arm brushing against Dan's, sudden and warm, even through both their shirtsleeves.

Dan freezes for a moment, turns to look at Casey, who is watching him intently, something Dan can't read in his eyes.

"And then the happy couple will process out, followed by the best man and maid of honor, and then the bridesmaid and usher," the priest says.

"I think you mean the second best man," Dan says, and his voice doesn't shake at all.

Everybody laughs.

Natalie and Jeremy walk back down the aisle, and Dana latches onto Dan's arm. "You all right, there, slugger?"

Dan smiles. "Peachy."

Dana looks at him sharply. "Dan?"

"Seriously, Dana. I'm fine. I'm good. I'm not going to fall apart just because Casey spoke to me for the first time in two years. I wouldn't do that to Natalie and Jeremy."

"Okay, then."

He looks down at her. "Is this weird? This feels like it should be weird."

"Which part?"

"All of it."

They fall into the fake receiving line and Dana shakes her head, presses a kiss to his cheek. "Weird is right up in your wheelhouse, Danny."

"You're not wrong."

"Okay, people, the rehearsal dinner is upstairs at P.J. Clarke's," Natalie announces. "We'll see you all there in half an hour."

*

P.J. Clarke's smells the same as always, stale beer and old wood and too many people in too small a space, the faint wet wool smell of winter still lingering despite the promise of spring in the air.

Dan mingles and chats, slings an arm around Kim's shoulders as they move through the room. It's familiar as breathing, putting on a show for the world, but it feels less like a front and more like real life when he does it here, with people he knows and who know him, have known him for ages.

He sits down at a table next to Dana and is not that surprised when Casey settles into the chair next to him, drinks for each of them cradled in his hands.

Dan takes a sip from his pint of beer. "Thanks, man."

"No problem."

Dan can smell Casey's cologne, his hair gel, and his heart is doing that racing thing he thinks he should maybe tell his doctor about. He's not as young as he used to be, and he doesn't want to die of a heart attack when he's forty. Dana puts her hand on his knee under the table, warm squeeze of reassurance, and he's able to breathe and smile without falling apart, just as promised.

"So Torre's going to be in the dugout at Chavez Ravine," Casey says, and this is familiar, too, and what Dan's missed more than anything.

"Yeah, and I think he's going to lead the Dodgers to the playoffs."

"You think so?"

"I do." He doesn't really--it's a possibility, but a distant one at this point. He just needs to say something to keep Casey talking, find their rhythm--their friendship--again. "Where they will meet the Mets in the NLCS."

"You think the Mets can do it this year?"

"I think the Mets _have_ to do it this year, after what happened in September. Look at the money they shelled out for Santana. Who, by the way, will have a career season."

They settle into the familiar routine, and halfway through Casey's recreation of the Giants' winning Super Bowl drive, Dana gets up and leaves them, smile on her face. Dan's forgotten the awkwardness and the anger. It's just him and Casey, talking sports over a couple of beers.

"Congratulations on the movie, by the way," Casey says once they've exhausted the topic of Bill Belichick's many fashion faux pas. "How's the City of Angels treating you?"

"Okay, outside of, like, Raymond Chandler, nobody calls it the City of Angels, Casey. And it's okay. No, it's better than okay. It's good. It's not New York, but I don't want it to be, you know?" He raises his glass to his lips and is surprised to find it's empty. Huh. "I have a dog, you know. Couldn't do that here in the city. No place to let her run."

"You? You are responsible for the life of another living creature?" Casey laughs and shakes his head in disbelief.

"I am, Casey. And she loves me for it. I am her _god_."

"You've got some kind of little yappy purse dog, don't you, Danny? You can admit it. We're all friends here."

"I won't have you impugning my Peggy's honor like that," Dan says indignantly, fumbling for his wallet and pulling out a picture of him and Peggy. "She's a big rambunctious dog, Casey. When she gets excited, she could knock you over with the power of her wagging tail."

"Peggy? You named your dog after Peggy Fleming?"

"She's very graceful."

"Oh, yeah, I can see that."

"Shut up, Casey."

Casey laughs again, and Dan thinks he's going to be all right.

*

There's the usual bustle to get outside and get cabs at the end of the evening, but Dan has spent the last two years riding around in cars. He wants to walk.

He's not as surprised as he might have been a few hours ago when Casey falls into step beside him. They walk quietly for a few minutes, weaving around the tourists and the happy hour drinkers heading home, but Third Avenue clears a little when they hit Fifty-first Street.

"I'm glad you came," Casey says. "I didn't want to get my hopes up or anything, but--"

"I couldn't disappoint Natalie and Jeremy. And besides, I wanted to show off my tan."

"You're going to have melanoma when you're sixty if you keep that up."

"You sound like Jeremy."

"He's a smart guy."

"Smarter than you."

Casey laughs. "Yeah, yeah, he is. I'm kind of an idiot, you know."

Dan lets out a long slow breath. "I've heard that a lot."

"You've said that a lot."

It's Dan's turn to laugh, anxious edge to it he can't control. "This is true." He shoves his hands in his pockets, not used to the chill of early spring anymore. "The show is good. I watch it every night." He stares straight ahead, waits for the light to change, foot tapping with nervous energy he hopes looks like impatience.

"Thanks, Danny. I--That means a lot to me." The light changes, but Casey doesn't step off the curb. He puts a hand on Dan's arm, thumb nestling in the crook of his elbow. Dan turns to face him, sick twist in his belly--fear or hope or some combination of the two. "I never expected--I didn't mean--I wasn't--"

"Use your words, Casey."

Casey doesn't, though. He leans in, presses his lips to Dan's. Casey's lips are warm and chapped and this close together, Dan can feel him trembling, just a little. He opens his mouth, tongue slipping out to lick at Dan's lips, and Dan follows suit, in sync again in a way they haven't been since the first time they did this, two years ago, and Casey had recoiled in shock and horror.

Pedestrians file past, jostling them into separating, and this time when Casey pulls back, he's wearing a big stupid grin on his face, one Dan's sure is mirrored on his own face.

"I wasn't ready then," Casey says. "But I am now."

"Okay," Dan says. "Okay." They keep walking down Third towards Forty-eighth Street, closer than they have to, shoulders bumping comfortably. "I've missed the city," he says.

"I think it's time for a renaissance," Casey says.

Dan feels like his face might permanently freeze in a smile. "I think you might be right."

end


End file.
